


And fate? No one alive has ever escaped it

by Barry_Manilows_Wardrobe



Series: Sing, O Goddess [1]
Category: Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, The Iliad - Homer, The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Fraternity, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Mythology, Drunken Shenanigans, Getting Together, Love at First Sight, M/M, Male Friendship, Male-Female Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-21
Updated: 2020-01-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:01:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22343011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Barry_Manilows_Wardrobe/pseuds/Barry_Manilows_Wardrobe
Summary: “Every year, on the morning after the TKE pledges have accepted their bids, they run down Greek Row naked.  It’s some kind of a male bonding thing.  It’s not gay at all."“You’re such a grumpy dandelion,” Bri soothed, nestled in fuzzy pajama bottoms, rabbit slippers, and her duvet.“I just don’t understand why we’re out here to see dicks when we have access to a computer.”
Relationships: Achilles & Antilochus (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Achilles/Patroclus (Song of Achilles), Briseis & Patroclus (Song of Achilles), Helen & Patroclus, Penelope & Patroclus
Series: Sing, O Goddess [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1629808
Comments: 18
Kudos: 293





	1. Members...and members

It was 5 AM - a  _ very _ brisk and dark five o’clock - on a Saturday. A time for alcohol metabolizing sleep, the kind that sours sweat and hopefully finds a glass of water next to the bedside. A time for tumbling  _ into _ bed on a roiling stomach of cheap eggs and homefries and too much coffee, careful (or not) to wake the roommate in the next single.

Which is to say: not a time to be sitting on the porch of Lovelace House trying to tuck an uncooperative army blanket under  _ anything _ for warmth with a thermos of Helen’s-Fucking-Coffee ™ between his knees in boxers and socks. In a fit of gentlemanliness that he regretted now, Patroclus had given the camp chair, dining room chair, and bean bag over to the girls. Leaving him on the  _ fucking freezing _ wood porch with an uncooperative wool army blanket that left his ass, one elbow, and the nape of his neck to the elements. 

“You’re such a grumpy dandelion,” Bri soothed, nestled in fuzzy pajama bottoms, rabbit slippers, and her duvet.

He was fairly certain that the left side of his hair was standing on end. He could feel it when the wind blew. 

“I just don’t understand why we’re out here to see dicks when we have access to a computer.”

Penelope came out of the House, banging the screen door behind her, in only a white tank top and the green boxing shorts she was so cagey about. He suspected she’d killed the person who owned them and kept them as a trophy. Helen was immediately after in skinny jeans and the tailored tweed jacket she wore everywhere. Patroclus knew that her year-round fashion was augmented by two Uniqlo vests in the winter. 

She had a pair of binoculars.

“Patroclus. Woe be it for us to deny the appreciation of TKE dicks on this - the ides of September. You have not yet experienced the unique joy of shriveled figs—” Bri made a gagging sound. “--bouncing in the pubes of Troy’s pride.” Helen motioned towards the dilapidated House next door. 

“My point stands on the availability of dicks in the comfort of our living room.”

“I like dicks,” Penelope said. And it had a solidity to it that settled the matter. 

“Every year, on the morning after the TKE pledges have accepted their bids, they run down Greek Row naked.” Bri paused to take a sip of tea masquerading as Helen’s-Fucking-Coffee ™. Penelope was the only one who could stomach it and Patroclus was sure she drank it out of  _ xenia _ for her cousin. “It’s some kind of a male bonding thing. It’s not gay at all. Digestive?”

Patroclus had been taking shameless advantage of Briseis’ care package after tasting cardamom for the first time. The world shifted on its axis, the planets aligned, and he didn’t mind if he did. “Thanks.”

At around 5:15 AM, the door to the TKE House opened with a bugle call from someone’s phone and out spilled a parade of their pledges, members… and their members. They had one of the largest fraternities on campus. Despite the potential for genetic diversity, they all looked the same to Patroclus: ripped and naked. They tended to inhabit the football/track field, Biology for Non-Bio Majors, and the main cafeteria on campus between the hours of 7-8 pm. Certainly not Patroclus’ carefully managed world. 

Pre-med, Pat came a few weeks before term for a mandatory Bio boot camp. As a transfer, he had to check all the boxes before the year began. Most of the Summer cohort were Freshmen - he hadn’t met his own cohort until two weeks ago - and very, very dedicated to their studies. Troy was one of the best non-Ivies for Pre-Med and everyone was stringing extra credits behind their High School 4.0s. On the first day over a department meet-and-greet, SATs and ACTs came before “Nice to meet yous.” 

Though he’d been recruited by the Department head - having won the Lyceum Prize for contribution to Maths  _ despite _ being at a community college - Patroclus felt like he had a scarlet letter on his chest: C for community college. The fact that he had started late made him at least six years older than anyone in the boot camp. 

His own cohort was no less nose to the grindstone but had lost some of the luster of being a big fish after being thrown into a shark tank of big fishes. He’d met Machaon (Biochem) and his OX brother, Podalirius (Organic Chem) in not one but the three classes they shared this semester.

Briseis (Chemistry/Philosophy double) had been next. She had done “ _ College before college _ ” in the UK before getting a student visa to the States. Through Briseis, he was able to get a room at Lovelace House when the housing office had put him in an already occupied single. There he met Penelope (Textile Arts) and Helen (Poli-Sci). He had not yet met Chryseis (Feminist Theology), who was doing a semester in Greece. It worked out well, even if he ended up on dish rota every week. He’d been shocked to realize that girls were slobs.

Helen kicked him. “Stop dozing. Dicks.” 

He had been dozing. He was probably going to die from hypothermia with a headstone saying:  _ Perished in the pursuit of dicks _ . “That’s Agamemnon,” Helen pointed out the first TKE. Pat had never met him, but he did know his brother, Menelaus. Helen had broken up with him before Pat got to Troy to date one of the Sigs, Paris. That had also not worked out but it didn’t stop either from low-grade stalking.

She named off the rest as they came by: “Ajax.” “Antilochus.” “Idomeneus.” “Menelaus, who you know.” Seeing Helen, Menelaus puffed up and offered a quick wave. Briseis wiggled her fingers at him while Helen sipped her own coffee. “A bunch of pledges I don’t know.” 

“Teucer is Ajax’s brother,” Penelope helpfully added. “And that one is just called Little Ajax.”

By this point, Patroclus noticed that some of the other Houses had also come out to watch. A couple of plucky Theta Chis holding beers aloft, the Zeta Sig techies in winter jackets, and the Gamma Phis out to look their fill in their matching pink hoodies. 

Patroclus thought the Gamma Phis might be a cult.

As the column was coming to its end, Briseis had a death grip on Pat’s shoulder, inadvertently ripping the uncooperative army blanket from him. It was the rankest of betrayals. “Here he comes,” she breathed while Pat wrestled the fabric back in place. “The Flower of Troy.”

Helen choked on her coffee.

The very last TKEs were laughing as they ran, breath clouding. Because it was too damn cold. “That’s Podarces—” The thermos fell through his frozen knees onto the step below him and Patroclus hastily bent to pick it up.

“And that,” Helen said, “Is Achilles.”

Achilles turned at his name and smiled. 

The strangest thing happened to Patroclus’ stomach. It was like butterflies or more aptly, bees, that rose - furious - from his stomach to his chest. Blood exploded through the capillaries of his face exploding hot and tingly. After careful photographic visuals later airdropped to the TV (Helen always having her phone), he would see that he had perfectly recreated the concussive patient image from his med-bio textbook.

There was the sound of a camera that he didn’t hear, a flash that he didn’t see. 

Achilles had also stopped.

There was just Patroclus and Achilles. Because Pat was suave (and possibly paralyzed?), he dropped the thermos he’d just picked up and it rolled down the walkway to the sidewalk. Achilles picked it up and ran to the stoop - ran to  _ Patroclus _ \- to hand it over. Because Patroclus was trying valiantly  _ not _ to look at his shriveled figs, he noticed that Achilles’ eyes were a stupid shade of green that did not exist in nature. “Here,” Achilles said. It took Patroclus ages to figure out how to move his fingers to take it. It took Achilles ages to move his fingers to release it. 

“Thanks.”

“Thanks,” Achilles parroted and then blushed.  _ All the way down _ to where Patroclus was valiantly trying not to look. He felt significantly less stupid and was going to say something suave (he  _ swore _ he was) when Podarces called out,

“Achilles, come on. It’s  _ fucking _ freezing.” Achilles looked at Podarces. He looked back at Patroclus. 

“Do you--?” 

“Yes.” 

“Ok.” And then he was gone and the Sigs were throwing eggs at the TKEs, as they were wont to do.

“Did we just witness love at first sight?” Briseis asked, complete astonishment in her voice. “That was what that was, right?”

“That was the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen,” Helen said, flipping through the picture slideshow on her phone. “And I got the whole thing. We can debrief inside. Over pancakes.”

It was Penelope who snapped her fingers in Pat’s face, drawing him back to earth. Or something like that. “You’re going to freeze to death.” Patroclus nodded and let her help him up. “He’s a good guy. Achilles.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was always one of the highlights of my college life.
> 
> This is finished, just posting in chapters.


	2. Coffee

**2**

**[Chorus]**

[Achilles] has anyone seen my travel mug?

[Automedes] It has been in the Chapter Room for three months. 

[Automedes] I have asked you to remove it… for three months.

[Achilles] do we have any cog?

[Achilles]….

[Achilles] coffee

[Achilles] I only see pudding

[Achilles] but we have a coffee maker?

[Automedes] Ajax drank all the communal coffee

[Ajax] lies and slander

[Auto] *slideshow of Ajax drinking coffee*

[Auto] *copy of buy-in for coffee, Ajax circled in red: $0*

[Teuce] Ag has a keurig

[Achilles] how do I make it make coffee?

[Automedes]…..

[Ajax] wait! why does Teuce know about Keurig?

[Ajax] I THOUGHT YOU SAID WE COULDN’t USE PLEDGES AS MINONS?

\--Teuce is removed from chat --

[Agamemnon] are you in my room?

[Antilochus] put a pudding cup in it

[Agamemnon] I know where you sleep

[Antilochus] Same

[Achilles] Same

[Ajax] SAME

[Menelaus] why do you need coffee so bad?

[Menelaus] per capita, you single-handedly import more hot chocolate than anyone in the world

[Achilles] I want coffee

[Pod] no, he wants dick

[Antilochus] !!!!

[Achilles] *gruesome picture of Julius Caesar*

[Pod] I am worried at how fast you sent that

[Antilochus] killie has a lot of anger issues

[Antilochus] get one of the pledges to get it

[Ag] we are not using the pledges as minions

[Ajax] keurig?!?!

[Achilles] what kind of house are we running

[Automedes] you’re welcome to be house mom

[Automedes] we need more tp

[Antilochus] get one of the pledges to steal some from the dorms

[Ag] not minions

[Ag] why are four pledges running across campus?

[Ag] anyone?

[Pod] get that ass, killie

  
  


After pancakes, dishes (Pat once again on the rota), and a good hour of roasting on the biological oddities stemming from making an ass of himself in front of Achilles (all of which he took good-naturedly), Pat fell asleep on the sofa. Giver of floral tattoos and cat hair from their highly illegal cat, Ginsberg, who spent his time between Penelope’s room and Patroclus’ face.

He woke up choking on one of the throw pillows. “Get up, Menoides.” He yawned and stretched, bringing his bony wrists and ankles over the armrests before sitting up to find Helen. And Achilles. Whose hard face (his legendary resting bitch face) softened in the eyes first, before reaching (with Patroclus’ eyes) his lips.

“Hey.” 

“Hello, Patroclus,” Achilles said at the same time, Helen rolling her eyes before ducking out of the uncomfortable place between two magnetic poles. Though not far enough to not get photo evidence.

Upon peeling back the afghan and swinging off the couch, Patroclus came to two simultaneous realizations. 

First, he was only wearing a white t-shirt and blue boxer briefs. Lovelace was so laissez-faire that the housemates thought nothing of finding a bra on the back of a chair or someone coming downstairs in a towel to pick up a copy of _Cosmo_ or the _Christian Science Monitor_. Or Patroclus sleeping on the couch in his boxers. Thankfully, Pat had never been terribly self-conscious. His was a subtle, non-showy confidence due to being older than anyone on campus and having been kicked around a bit and surviving it.

Secondly, the TV woke up to continue cycling through different angles of Achilles’ dick. The remote was… 

He turned his back to the TV.

If Patroclus couldn’t see it, it didn’t exist.

Framed in the light of the giant picture window, Achilles was liminal. Bright and almost perfect. Upon further observation however - and Patroclus was observing - there was a small scab between his left jaw and neck, a tiny white scar at the corner of his mouth, and a knobby-knuckled hand holding a travel mug.

Thankfully, Pat had never been one to beware Greeks bringing gifts. “You dropped yours, so…” Achilles lifted the mug, having followed Patroclus’ eyes there.

“Um. Thanks?” It wasn’t really a question. Pat wasn’t sure why his voice rose. He took the mug.

“I thought you would need more coffee. But you probably already have some because you have a kitchen and I didn’t know what you liked, but--” The awkward was kind of endearing (though Briseis, who was spying from the stairs, noted later that it was extremely painful).

“No, really. Thanks.” Pat’s hand went to his head and attempted to smush his hair down.

To no avail. 

“It’s nice to see you.” Achilles, who had never stopped looking at him, smiled. And there it was again: the butterfly-bees, the flush, the feeling of his heart vibrating against his lungs and threatening to vibrate out his ribcage. “Again.”

“I want to hang out with you...” Achilles hung on the last word until it was on the verge of breaking.

“Let me just, um, get dressed?” 

“But I… can’t?”

“Um…”

“I mean. I _want_ to hang out with you.” He repeated himself, with more emphasis but no more clarity. “But we have the pledges and frat stuff and… I made coffee.” He sort of flailed his hands at Patroclus who was, indeed, holding the travel mug. 

Patroclus, who honestly had no idea what to do, was silent long enough to warrant an intervention. 

“He thinks you have a lovely dick and we’ll be at the party tonight,” Pen interpreted, coming up from the basement with the same basket of dirty laundry she had taken down about five seconds prior. Patroclus choked. “We love him, but he’s a complete social disaster.”

With the flick of one of the 50 or so muscles around his mouth, Achilles’ face had gone from worried to downright naughty. “I have a very nice dick. And I can handle complete social disasters.” And then he ran.

“I did not realize how awkward he is.” Pen left the laundry basket on the couch. “Come up for a smoke? You can watch him walk away from my window. He’s probably going to stand on our front lawn for a while.”

“Alright.”

The coffee was absolutely awful. But Patroclus drank the whole thing. 


	3. House Party

**[Chorus]**

[Helen] Pat is so precious

[Bri] He’s been ready since six? I actually saw him ironing his jeans 

[Bri] *picture of Pat ironing jeans*

[bri-says]: PhilHELLENism just posted a picture

[Bri] #patrochilles? Really?

[Bri] What if Achilles sees this?

[Helen] HE brought Pat **coffee**

[Helen] per capita, Achilles single-handedly imports more hot chocolate than anyone in the world

[Helen] He is also awkward af

[Helen] This is my project #patrochilles

[Helen] Also, Achilles does not follow me and I blocked Menelaus

[Cris]: Who is Pat?

[Bri] Pat is the new Cris

[Helen] No one could replace you.

[Pen] Do we have any Twinkies left?

[Helen] Ask Pat

[Bri] Ask Pat

[Pen] Also, you’re standing right next to each other, why are you texting?

  
  


As he was ignorant of the nuances of Greek life, Patroclus was ready way too early and fell asleep on the couch before everyone in Lovelace was ready to make their appearance. At around 10 pm.

“Wake up, wake up sleeping beauty.”

“I wouldn’t need to nap if someone hadn’t rolled me out of bed at 5 am... for _dicks_.” He scowled, the embossed lily on his cheek tight and tingly, fumbling for his glasses on the table. He’d torn his right contact and had to wait until his next loan check to refill the prescription. Thus the glasses. His Helen and Briseis approved ensemble: a too-new pair of jeans, white sneakers, and a grey sweater over check flannel was now slightly rumpled.

In Patroclus’ world, anything Not-Summer was part of Winter. Spring and Fall did not exist. There was only Post and Pre-Winter. He’d grown up in Florida and spent the last six or so years of his life between California and Okinawa before Troy. Anything below 50 and the peacoat came out. Anything below 40 and Patroclus didn’t come out. 

Thus the sweater. It was hard-won as Pen had said _you’re going to broil_ , but it was the small victories, right?

“Ummmm…” Briseis said, using the mirror over the fireplace to check her lipstick. The small heart pin of her hijab moving with her head. “Motion to dismiss,” she addressed Helen, also checking her lipstick, though in her favorite pair of black jeans and a chunky knit crop top. She had chosen a pink wig that fell to her shoulders.

“The court believes this is a frivolous lawsuit, Mr. Menoides. I do not believe your attorney has performed their due diligence before addressing the court.” She smacked the pink gloss of her lips. “Is it not true that you met your soulmate during the period?”

He snorted. “Oh, please--”

Hand on his shoulder, “Objection is denied. Case dismissed.” 

Pen came out of the kitchen in a pair of high waist jeans and a sleeveless white t-shirt. And The Last Twinkie ™. Patroclus had hidden The Last Twinkie ™ in the gap between the cabinet molding and the ceiling. “I was keeping that for an emergency.” 

“I’ll give you a pudding cup later.” The three girls shared a meaningful look that Patroclus was not privy to. So he cautioned,

“It had better not be tapioca.” He was also concerned about the state of his Red Vines. Which were also in the gap between the cabinet molding and the ceiling. 

“I would never.” 

As the TKE house was next door, both Briseis and Helen had opted for the shoes they always complained about. Too tight suede boots for Briseis and the black stilettos Helen had glued red fabric to the soles of. 

“You won’t know this, but the TKE New Pledge is one of the biggest of the year and it’s going to be a crush.”

Patroclus had not quite appreciated the word _crush_ until he was trying to squeeze through the hallway to one of the rooms where, presumably, he would be able to breathe. He darted left and ended up in a room with no less than seven couches and two open windows. _Thank god_. He recognized absolutely no one and had misplaced his housemates almost immediately as it was apparently every person for themselves. 

He turned when someone tapped him on the shoulder. A tallish blond with heavy-lidded blue eyes leaned in close to yell, “If you were a Transformer, you’d be... Optimus _Fine_.”

Pulling back, the blond gave him a wink and two finger guns.

Patroclus blinked.“Um…”

“Not doing it for you?” 

“Nope.”

"Beer? Cider? A random combination of alcohol in a container presumably to be poured into a solo cup? I would offer my heart, but well..." He flapped a hand.

Patroclus laughed. "Sure."

“I am Antilochus, Social Chair of this fine establishment. Follow me, good sir.”

“I’m not sure I’ll make it through that,” Patroclus motioned towards the wall of bodies that stood between him and the rest of the house. 

“May I?” Patroclus nodded and Antilochus threaded his arm through the gap between Patroclus’ torso and elbow, holding fast. “I shall cleave through the tide and get us to our destination.” Patroclus wasn’t entirely sure that his self-appointed champion was not already drunk. But it seemed more amusing than standing by the window. Though he was broiling under the sweater.

The blond tapped his forearm twice and then tugged him through the crowd. People _moved_ for them.

Antilochus avoided the hall and cut through the pocket doors to a larger room where Patroclus was unceremonious pulled into a sauna of humanity with a cry of, “Step lively, Optimus.” 

“It’s Patroclus.”

Not stepping lively _enough_ , someone stepped on his foot just as he thought he’d caught the briefest glimpses of pink hair in the distance.

They passed four more couches until they reached the kitchen. Every available surface was covered in bottles and cans and cups. Several handfuls of sharpies laying next to a solo cup marked as _Castor_. Next to a solo cup marked _Castor-ate_. Next to a solo cup marked _Asster_. There were no unused cups. “Fucking Zetas. Open the cabinet over there for another pack.”

“Wait, no--”

Not ducking in time, Patroclus was assaulted by a phalanx of pudding cups, only managing to _not_ break his glasses by putting his arm over his face. “What the fuck?!?”

“Not _that_ cabinet,” Antilochus reached over to close the door, possibly saving Patroclus’ life, while kicking pudding cups under the fridge and into the ankle of a student in a three-piece suit and _Pledge_ sash presiding over the punch bowl. “Hrm. How about…” He opened the door to the fridge - and Patroclus would never speak again of the gaping maw of doom therein - and pulled out a pear cider. “A cider?”

“Yeah. Sure.” Antilochus did a neat trick of knocking the cap off with a tap on the counter.

“Come downstairs. We need a fourth for darts, Optimus.”

“You’re going to call me that forever aren’t you?”

“Undoubtedly.”

Patroclus wondered where Achilles was. There was no sign of the TKE, but neither was anything particularly well lit. From what he could see, the TKE House was pretty derelict and almost certainly a safety violation. “So I’ve never seen you before. Are you a fresher?" He gave Pat a meaningful look over. "Or a narc?"

“Oh, I’m a transfer.”

“Fair. I should have led with this, but are you any good at darts?”

Patroclus, who had spent many an afternoon collecting from seamen, only said, “Yeah, I'm okay.”

“That’s good enough. I know for a fact that Diomedes is only a pretty face. Though his second is probably a shill.” The basement stairs were as questionable as the house and Patroclus feared for his life.

It was less crowded but also lit only by blacklight. Patroclus’ shoes glowed blue and the whites of Antilochus’ eyes were demonic. “Can’t you spring for lights?” 

“But then all our flaws would be on view.” Pat rolled his eyes and Antilochus laughed. “Aren’t you feeling the romance?”

“Not particularly.” Antilochus muscled him into what turned out to be the laundry room where their dartboard was pinned to the wall. There were already three people there: a dark-haired man confidently propped against the dryer, a girl with a sloppy bun _on_ the dryer, and… Machaon.

“Yo, Patroclus!” 

“Hey, man. I think you’re the only person I know here.”

“You know me.” Antilochus pouted, mock offended. 

“Did you have to _kidnap_ someone to get a partner?” The girl on the dryer laughed, her bun bouncing as she did. Antilochus scowled. “Your reputation precedes you.” She turned to Patroclus, “I’m Euippe.”

“Pat.”

“So now you know _three_ people.” 

“And I’m Diomedes.” Diomedes had a strong, sure handshake. He was shorter than Patroclus but didn’t feel it due to the way he carried himself. “So now you know four.”

“Diomedes is my Pres,” Machaon added, wagging his brow. Machaon and Polidarius had been lobbying hard for Patroclus to come to rush. But he had no intention of going Greek.

Antilochus narrowed his eyes. “No poaching on sacred ground, Tricca." Diomedes put his hands up in mock surrender. "Shall we?”

Patroclus hung back on the first round to get the measure of Antilochus and the other players. And then really started playing. “Holy. Shit.” Antilochus gave a theatrical - and very sloppy - kiss to Patroclus’ mouth which he’d not expected, but pushed away from. Euippe high-fived him. Diomedes and Machaon accepted their loss with grace.

“So what are you doing next Thursday? There’s a dartboard at the Social and I think we can clean up.” Machaon was actually rubbing his hands together.

“I have a study group. _And_ that would be unethical. You know some of these kids use the campus pantry to eat for the week.”

“You say that like you’re not one of us. _Kids_ .” Euippe added with a smile. Diomedes’ hand now on her thigh. Because she was wearing shorts. _In Pre-Winter_.

“He’s not,” Machaon said, taking up his piss beer from the washer next to Patroclus’ abandoned sweater. “Pat is an old man.”

Patroclus rolled his eyes. “I’m 24, not dead.” He was still laughing when his knock-off smartphone buzzed. Because he _was_ an old man, he always stepped out for calls and texts. It was only polite. “Just a sec.”

It was a text from Bri. _Where are you?_

_In the basement_

_Yr bf is upstairs. Medes’ room_

_Who is Medes??_ He waited a few minutes, but Bri didn’t respond. 

“Another game?” Antilochus asked when he walked back into the laundry room. 

Diomedes groaned, “Sadist.”

“Uh, no. My friend is up in Medes’ room? Do you know where that is?” Antilochus’ face broke into a brilliant smile. 

“Indeed I do. It’s next to mine. I’ll take you up.”

“Thanks.” Pat pocketed his phone. “It was nice to meet you all.”

Machaon tipped his beer at him, “See you Monday.” 

Diomedes shook his hand again, not afraid of making direct eye contact. “You should come by the House next weekend. Check it out.”

“No poaching!” Antilochus reminded him. 

“And I’ll be there!” Euippe laughed, waving Patroclus away.

“Honestly,” Antilochus said, plastered against Patroclus’ side as they wound through blue-tinged couples for the stairs, “The only frat worth joining is TKE.” Patroclus’ mouth turned up. He wasn’t used to so much jockeying for his attention. He was just at Troy for his degree.

“I’m not planning on joining a fraternity,” he qualified. Just to set the record straight.

“For now…” Antilochus faded off ominously. “We have movie nights on Mondays. And I think that… um, Prothous is pre-med? So you can come over to study with him. What year are you?”

“I’m a junior.”

“So am I!” There was entirely too much enthusiasm behind that. “I just declared for History and Philosophy. I had enough credits for both. I have to take a bio course - it’s a college pre-req - maybe you can help me?”

“Um, sure?” Antilochus pushed them through the hallway and up the stairs that led to the bedrooms. There were fewer people upstairs, portioned into the seven or so rooms on the floor. Antilochus went for the third room on the left.

“This is Medes’. Mine is that one.” He pointed out the door to the right… with a deflated football nailed to it and a dry erase board that someone had added _Asssssssss_. Classy. 

Antilochus didn’t even knock on Medes’ door, just opening it with a flourish and “Medes, what the fuck is happening, man?”

Patroclus followed slightly less enthusiastically behind him. He was nervous. Achilles may have brought him coffee, but they didn’t actually _know_ each other. They’d never even had a conversation. He may not even--

The first thing Patroclus saw in the room was Achilles. He was scowling on the floor, one of a number of people facing each other on yet more couches. A coffee table between them piled high with beer bottles and someone with a bong.

“I bring with me, Optimus _Fine_ , The Hero of Darts.” Achilles stood up immediately startling a girl in a red tank top ( _Pre-Winter!!_ ) and managed to float over legs and beer bottles and an end table held together with duct tape and dreams until he was standing directly in front of Patroclus. 

“Hey!” Antilochus frowned.

But Achilles said, “You came.”

Patroclus smiled, a crooked thing because despite being over six-feet of muscle and angry-face, Achilles’ enthusiasm was on the good side of overwhelming. “I said I would.”

“You wear glasses.” He sounded amazed, which Patroclus thought undeserving of his nearsightedness.

“I ripped my contacts. Thus…” He made some sort of motion towards his face as if it explained everything.

“Do you want to--”

“Yes.” Achilles could have asked him to jump off a bridge and he would probably do it. Achilles took his hand and headed for the door.

“Wait!” Antilochus said. “We just got here. Where are you taking Optimus Fine?” Antilochus, seemingly incapable of not emphasizing the _fine,_ sounded genuinely indignant.

Achilles gave Antilochus a look - Patroclus looking apologetic as they _had_ just got there - and closed the door behind them over Antilochus’ “Remember the sock!”

“Sock?” Achilles’ answer was a brilliant smile as he opened the door with the deflated football and the _Assssss_ on the dry-erase board. “Isn’t this Antilochus’ room?”

“Yes. He’s my roommate.” The door was an accurate preview of what lay beyond. Achilles snapped on a lamp near the door and the room was a mess. A crumpled pair of white briefs right next to the door, a pile of the same outside the closet whose door was hanging by what appeared to be a single screw. They had L-shaped lofted beds with a couch under both and a huge flat-screen TV against one wall. It smelled slightly acrid with notes of sweat and skunky alcohol and takeout. 

It was pretty much what Patroclus expected of a frat house bedroom. 

Achilles was watching his face and frowned. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know… I wasn’t sure… I should have picked up.” He rubbed the skin at the back of his neck. “Let me open a window.” He had to climb over one of the couches to reach one and there was a loud _craaack_ when he managed to open the sash. The air was cool and clean and Patroclus sighed. 

With a roll, Achilles was back over the couch and sat, legs v’d, watching Patroclus. “I want to know everything about you.”

“There isn’t much to know, really.” He followed a pathway through the detritus and sat on the cushion next to Achilles.

“Where have you been, Patroclus?” Achilles’ eyes were green, very green, and intense. Patroclus wasn’t used to being the subject of such focus but held his own. He wasn’t sure that Achilles actually wanted an answer. But Patroclus offered,

“Around. I’ve been around.” That startled a laugh out of Achilles and took the tension down a notch. Enough to let Patroclus sort of melt into the couch instead of hovering just at the edge. 

“Do you want to come up?” Achilles was motioning towards the loft overhead. Patroclus assumed it was his. “We don’t have to do anything. We never have to do anything if you’re not comfortable. But I like you.” It was a little presumptuous. But Patroclus didn't mind the presumption.

“I like you, too.” He really, really did. “And yes, I’d like to come up.” Achilles took the ladder on a jump and held out his hand to help Patroclus. He really didn’t need the help, heaving himself over the slat that kept the sleeper from hurtling to their death six feet down. He didn’t bounce, exactly. “This is a nice mattress.”

“Yeah. It was a back to school gift from my Mom.” Patroclus, who hadn’t had parents for years, suddenly wondered how old Achilles was. He was tall and broad and the light shadow of hair on his chin and cheeks said he was at least somewhere in Patroclus’ wheelhouse. He really hoped he wasn’t eighteen.

“How old are you?”

Achilles paused to think about it. “Twenty. I’ll be twenty-one in November. How old are you?” It was almost impossible to sit up on the bed, so Patroclus followed Achilles’ example and laid down. Achilles turned towards him, propping up his torso with his elbow. 

“Twenty four. I’ve recently been told I’m an old man.” The left side of Patroclus’ mouth rose up in amusement. 

“That’s not so old,” Achilles frowned. “Agamemnon is at least as old and he’s doing a fifth to finish some credits.”

They had not broken eye-contact and for once it wasn’t as awkward as it should have been. “I didn’t know what I wanted to do with myself.”

“I wish I had taken a break,” Achilles said. Though he might have been equating Patroclus’ struggle to escape home and scraping funds for college with a gap year, Achilles didn’t know that yet. Patroclus had the feeling that he would know. That he would know Achilles, too. “But I came straight to college after high school.” He didn’t sound very happy about it but lifted his face back to Patroclus’ and fucking _glowed_. “But you’re here. Where did you grow up?”

“Florida. Around Disney World.” Patroclus _hated_ Disney and his voice gave it away.

“I’m from New York. Though my Dad lives in Orange County.” 

“How did you end up here?”

“Football.”

“Are you any good?” Achilles looked surprised and then amused at the question.

“I’m good at everything.”

Patroclus’ right eyebrow lifted of its own volition. “I highly doubt that.”

“I am the _best_. I have a Campbell Trophy. And I was Parade All-American, first-string quarterback on the All-USA Today team, Gatorade’s National Player of the Year…”

“I have no idea what any of that means.” 

“It means I am the _best_.”

“And modest, too.” Achilles gave him the brilliant smile again, the one that made the butterfly-bees kick up their buzzing in his stomach.

“I am trying to impress you.” Patroclus turned to face him. He could feel the heat radiating from Achilles’ thighs and calves. He was a little embarrassed and kind of excited, too? Like the _does he/doesn’t he_ was completely bypassed and all the cards were on the table. “So you know I am a good deal. The best deal.”

Patroclus swallowed. Hard. “You’re doing a good job of it.”

Achilles leaned forward, his breath now ghosting Patroclus’ lips. “Can--”

There was no verb, but Patroclus interpreted it. “Yes.” Patroclus assumed that Achilles was going to dominate. But it was sweet, languid, unhurried. Testing the grooves and arches of Patroclus’ soft palate and teeth. All the secret corners that only Patroclus’ tongue knew. 

There was a power to Achilles that Patroclus wasn’t familiar with having only made out with women. But it was checked, controlled. Achilles knew what he was doing. And he was doing it to Patroclus. He broke off, the seal of their mouths popping. “What is your favorite color?”

Patroclus blinked. “Green.”

Achilles smiled. “Good. Mine is brown.” He swiped a finger gently across the soft skin under Patroclus’ eye. “This color.”

Patroclus tasted Coke and cigarettes in Achilles’ spit as they kissed again; Achilles’ tongue coaxed Patroclus’ open again.

When they parted, Patroclus gasped for air. Or for Achilles. It didn’t really matter. “What is your favorite movie ever?”

Oxygen. Patroclus needed oxygen to formulate words. He drew in a long breath. “Um. _Les Quatre Cents Coups_?”

“What is that?”

“It’s a Truffaut film about a boy who… doesn’t fit in, I guess. No one understands him and well, I don’t want to spoil it.”

“Does it have subtitles?” Patroclus nodded. “Will you watch it with me?”

“Yes, of course.” Achilles was warm against him, having used his thighs to reseat him, moving so that he was straddling Patroclus. “What is yours?”

“ _John Wick_. The first one.” Achilles sucked his lower lip between his teeth before adding, “I would kill anyone who hurt something of mine.”

He sounded deadly serious. Patroclus didn't know him well enough, yet, to tell whether it was hyperbole or something else. Achilles was kissing him again, deliberate to Patroclus' pliant. Patroclus pushed up and Achilles dropped his weight. “We have all the time in the world,” Achilles admonished against Patroclus’ throat. “I don’t want to fuck this up.”

Achilles kissed him again and they went on like that for what felt like hours. 

_Favorite band?_

The indistinct murmur of the party below coming up through the floor while they kissed. 

_If you could go back in time and talk to yourself, what advice would you give?_

Night turning grainy through the open window while they kissed. 

_When you read the news, what section to immediately skip to?_

While his phone intermittently buzzed with texts coming through, they kissed. 

_If you were an incredibly talented rapper, what would you want to rap about?_

Patroclus’ hips and hands grinding up against Achilles, who met every pull with a push. Patroclus was hot. Achilles throwing off heat like a radiator. “I need to…” he breathed out around Achilles’ mouth. “I’m too hot.”

Achilles laughed against his clavicle where the buttons of his flannel had given way. Patroclus reached for the button on his jeans, unfastening them and then shuffling his hips to pull them down. “Move or help me.”

“Fair.” Achilles sat up to pull the jeans down with his underwear, causing Patroclus’ cock to bounce against his stomach. He’d been hard for hours, but at a patient buzz. Achilles paused then, on his knees and sort of hunched over in deference to the ceiling. “Patroclus. I can say unequivocally that you are the hottest person I have ever had in this bed.”

Patroclus found the power to roll his eyes. “You’ve only had it for what… two weeks?” Achilles put a finger against his mouth, abraded from his hours of effort.

“Hush, you. Is it alright if I blow you?” Patroclus nodded so quickly he thought he might have broken his neck.

He’d never had anyone’s mouth on his cock before. Spitting on the head, Achilles swallowed him completely in one smooth motion. Patroclus’ legs and torso came off the bed on a jerk before pressing down. He didn’t want to choke Achilles. The heat and suction of Achilles’ mouth was indescribable. Achilles was rubbing against his leg, sliding against his thigh and Patroclus knew he was going to come. And quickly. “I’m… going… to…” he tried to warn before he temporarily lost control of his body, twitching and gasping and jerking as he fed Achilles every molecule of Patroclus through his dick.

He felt something wet and warm just above his knee.

When Patroclus blinked his post-orgasm away, he was completely wrapped up in Achilles, who was petting where he could reach: stomach and hips. Achilles’ mouth was hot at his neck and all he could smell was semen. “God, it smells like sex in here.”

“I told you I am the _best_.” The words against his ear were smug and pleased.

“Maybe. I need to see more evidence before I can make a determination."

“Stick with me, Patroclus. I have so many things to show you.”


	4. The next morning

**[Chorus]**

[Bri] Where r u?

[Pat]

[Bri] Where r u?

[Helen]

[Bri] Where r u?

[Pen]

[Bri] You berks. I was sat in a room for hours talking to some arse who was sexiled, and then asked me if I wanted to “put some shrimp on the barbie”

[Bri] What does that even mean?

[Bri] I’m a little worried that Pat immolated last night. We only found his sweater.

[Helen] I told him he was going to broil

[Bri] And where were you?

[Helen] Ask me no questions and I shall tell you no lies

[Pen] Vomiting in the basement bathroom

[Helen] Oh, that explains waking up with no sweater

[Helen] Did you carry me up?

[Pen] You owe me.

[Pen] A lot

[Pen] Pat is at Achilles’

[Pen] It was the most awkward seduction ever

[Bri] Get it, Pat

[Helen] Did anyone record it?

[Cris] This Pat guy sounds like a boss

[Pen] To put this in context, he texted me last week to ask if Summer’s Eve was shampoo

  
  


Pat woke up the next morning - afternoon? - with Achilles’ arm under the pillow and bodies pressed torso to toes. He was fucking freezing and had to piss. Everything was blurry without his glasses, but he could see the bundle of boy in the next bed over, every part of Antilochus swaddled except a tuft of blond hair and his right foot. A quick once-over found that he was still in his flannel and his underwear and jeans were somewhere around his ankles along with the comforter. 

God, he must have given Achilles’ roommate a show.

Making a grab for them, he jostled the mattress enough to wake Achilles. “Ummm, Patroclus. G’morning.”

“I have to get up.”

“Why?” Achilles was like a lazy cat, stretching and rubbing along Patroclus’ left thigh. 

“I have to pee.”

Achilles rubbed his face against Patroclus’ hip. “Only if you promise to come back.”

“I’m not sure if I want anyone to see me?” He motioned to his very crumpled clothing. It would be a short walk of shame. But a walk of shame nonetheless.

“Um. I can get you out the back door. The fence is broken and we can cut through the backyard of the International House.” Patroclus’ grateful smile sparked one of Achilles’ brilliant ones. “French toast sticks?”

“Yesssss. I’m starving.”

Patroclus got his pants up and managed to get down from the loft without dying. His glasses were on the sofa directly beneath Achilles’ bed and he put them on before heading to the restroom with Achilles. Who was only in a white t-shirt and briefs. “What are you doing today?” Achilles asked as they pissed in separate stalls. 

“I have to do some work for classes.”

“Do you want to get dinner after?”

“You can’t possibly want to spend so much time with me.”

“I want all your time. But. I don’t want you to get tired of me?” Achilles wiped his hands on a damp purple towel that was undoubtedly a disease vector. Without a toothbrush, Patroclus rinsed his mouth out with tap water. “I’m kind of an asshole.”

“I never noticed.” They laughed at each other and Achilles kissed his ear.

“Let me grab my jacket--”

“And pants.”

“... And pants and we can go.” Patroclus couldn’t find his sweater anywhere and it was  _ cold _ . “Here, take this.” Achilles dropped his varsity jacket. “I can double sweater.”

Patroclus didn’t fight it, putting on the jacket immediately. It was just a little large because Patroclus was less bulky, but it fit well at the shoulders. It was clear that Achilles wanted to say  _ something _ but didn’t. “C’mon.” Patroclus followed him down the back stairs, into the kitchen where two Pledges were bagging trash, and out into the backyard. The fence in the back was grey and bowed and they easily crossed into the backyard of the International House.

“So what are you studying for?” Achilles asked as they crossed the street to campus proper, his hands buried in his pockets. 

“Med Chem. And an essay for the English pre-req I have to do. Not all my credits transferred.”

“What is your major?” Achilles was walking them to Locris Hall where the best cafeteria was. The one with french toast sticks. 

“Pre-med, but technically chemistry.”

“Are you going to be a doctor?”

“I hope so.” Patroclus smiled at Achilles. “How about you?”

“Well, I’m not going to be a doctor.” Patroclus punched his arm, Achilles almost dancing away. “But I’m a music major.”

“Seriously?” 

“I told you I’m the  _ best _ . I’ve played the piano since I was like…” he scrunched up his nose, “Three or something. My Mom is on the board for the New York Philharmonic and my Dad is a principle for the LA Phil… and I want to compose? I don’t mind performance, but I like creating stuff.”

“That’s pretty cool.”

“So is being a doctor.” Achilles charmed the cashier as Patroclus didn’t have a meal plan and they got in line at the grill station. Impulsively, he took Patroclus’ hands in his and rubbed them to pins and needles. Achilles was completely nonchalant about it, though Patroclus did look around. 

Patroclus was beginning to believe that Achilles  _ was _ the best. But only just.

When they were seated with coffees and frankly an unhealthy pile of french toast sticks, Achilles asked, “Can I get your number?”

“Well, since you’ve had your mouth on my dick, sure.” 

Achilles laughed so hard, he sloshed most of his coffee on the table. “Oh my god. I’m going to marry you.”

Patroclus snorted and threw a wad of napkins at him.

  
  


**[Chorus]**

[Ag] Hey Achilles, wtf are you? We have a mtg @ 2

[Ag] Automedron where is Achilles?

[Automedron] Why does everyone assume I know where everyone is? I’m house mom, not the CIA

[Ag] Antilochus, where is Achilles?

[Antilochus] More importantly: did we get tp?

[Automedes] We have paper towels

[Antilochus] ohhhh

[Idomenus] tp is something the pledges have to carry on them

[Antilochus] I love you so hard

[Idomenus] Please don’t. I don’t want an std

[Antilochus] :( can you send one, posthaste, to the toodle- _loo_?

[Ag] They are not minions

[Ag] but can you send a pledge up with a pack of gum? 


	5. A treatise on pudding

For godlike Herakles, these deeds were done:

“Hrm.” It was 2 o’clock in the afternoon, two days before the beginning of the Fall semester, and as the TKE doors were never locked most of the contents of Jason’s room were on the lawn burning. Herakles, who genuinely liked Medea, waved at her through the window. She waved back.

He was definitely not getting involved.

Instead, he enjoyed the quiet and cleanliness that began the year. A percentage of chapter dues went towards a pre-term cleaning and the House smelled of lemon oil and bleach. There were no dishes in the sink, the shower stalls were mold-free, and he had overseen a delivery of essentials. Coffee, boxes of mac ‘n cheese, toilet paper, and a case of vodka.

Still in his bathrobe - a floral pink number that had just shown up one day - and slippers, he padded into his favorite room in the House: the Chapter room. The largest room of the house, it had been through a lot. A beach party first year when they’d hauled in 7 tonnes of sand and two kiddie pools. It had been a bitch to clean up and you could still find sand in the couch cushions. The ‘paint fiasco’ his year as Social Chair had seen $6000 of paint distributed over 400 bodies. And the Annual Day Drink to raise money for the mentoring program they supported.

Iolaus, Herakles’ nephew who pledged last Winter, was already there. They'd come up from DC together. Illuminated by the light of his phone, Iolaus had his head propped against the Kappa Sorority’s stuffed deer, the theft of which was an essential part of both group’s pledges. It's enormous antlers were painted gold and purple, the Kappa colors and it smelled like patchouli. “Hey.”

“Do you mind if I listen to Thamyris?”

“No, go ahead.”

He ducked behind the partition that kept the sound system from being damaged through drunken hijinks and navigated to the indie station out of Mt Parnassus. He loved classical music and made his grandson (in the TKE hierarchy), Achilles, play while still a pledge. A lot. Sometimes at 3 am.

“I could really go for some Beethoven.”

“You should call in. He loves you.” Herakles shot his nephew a look.

“Phone.” Iolaus threw his over, Herakles catching it easily with minimal splashing of his coffee. “Hello. Yes, it _is_ Herakles. Could you do Symphony 7, Op 82. Yes, I know it’s overplayed. No, the Allegretto. Listen, at least it’s not Fur Elise.” He smiled at the phone. Thamyris was a curmudgeon, but he would miss him when he graduated.

_This one goes out to our Immortal Beloved: Herakles, possibly our only listener, who asked for a little Beethoven._

_And what the hell, today’s sponsor - Jell-O - has given us the prize of a lifetime supply of Jell-O Pudding cups. Congratulations, Herakles._

  
  


_One Week Later_

“What are we going to do with 500 cases of chocolate pudding? I don't think we can fit anymore in the kitchen."

“I guess we can put them in the basement?” They looked at the cases and then at each other. “You know, Medea did clear that room out..."

“Yes.”

  
  


_Three Years Later_

“Where did you say the coffee was again?” Patroclus, in Achilles’ only non-TKE shirt and a pair of flannel pajama pants possibly belonging to Antilochus, opened the cabinet _very carefully_ to find… more pudding cups. He tried the next cabinet, the drawer, and even under the sink. “Why do you have so many pudding cups?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The adventures of #patrochilles continue [here](%E2%80%9C).


End file.
